


driftwood and stone

by sashawire



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Campaign: Balance (The Adventure Zone), F/F, POV Second Person, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:55:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27427531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sashawire/pseuds/sashawire
Summary: “You’re gonna need this,” Sloane calls, tossing you something white and pointy.You blink, and run your hands along the bumpy ridges of one of the skull’s horns. It’s heavier than it looks, and missing a chunk from one of its nostrils. “A ram?”
Relationships: Hurley/Sloane (The Adventure Zone)
Kudos: 2





	driftwood and stone

**Author's Note:**

> Title is based on the song “Meet Me By the River” from The Penumbra Podcast. For the life of me, I couldn't find the original song outside of the episode it appeared in, but there's a really cool cover of it [on YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uXG5wNI-drE&ab_channel=5Qui99L3).

A long, lithe figure leans against the side of a wagon. In her hands, she cradles a raven’s mask, thumbing the curved beak in slow, confident motions.

She watches you approach. Her eyes have always been unsuited for that of a criminal’s, shining, soft around the corners. Her mouth tilts in a smile, “So, you managed to pry yourself away from your own morals?”

“Shush,” You cross your arms. “I’m not a criminal. This is barely a crime!”

Sloane grins at you in a way you can’t help but recognize. Right before she throws a smoke bomb, or smashes a display case, or holds up your wallet between two bony fingers and says  _ point for me, Lieutenant. _

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Sloane grins slick, like she knows she’s won.

*

You cling to the rim of one of the wagon’s open windows. Your face stings where Sloane’s long, dark, surprisingly coarse hair whips you accidentally, spun by the wind that passes through the wagon.

Outside the rim of Goldcliff, the countryside smells of wet grass and animal dung.

“A taste,” Sloane promised you. “I’ll give you a taste of what wagon racing’s like, and then you decide.”

The moon and stars are chalkboard-smudges above you, and Sloane is there, smiling wider than her face and making hairpin turns like the whole world is in pursuit. Considering the way your heart is ramming against your ribcage, it might as well be.

You open your mouth, to scream or gasp or yell  _ slow down, idiot! _ but what comes out is a laugh, strangled by the excitement-tightness of your throat. It’s almost quieter than the wind, but Sloane twists around to beam,  _ beam _ at you. The stars tuck themselves snug into the black-dark of her hair and lit by nothing but the moon and headlights, she glows.

The wagon comes crunching to a halt afterwards.

“I take it you had fun?” Sloane tries to tease, but she’s still catching her breath.

You reach over and grasp her arm. “Wh—” Oh yeah, you’re supposed to breathe too, aren’t you— “when’s the next race?”

*

“You’re gonna need this,” Sloane calls, tossing you something white and pointy.

You blink, and run your hands along the bumpy ridges of one of the skull’s horns. It’s heavier than it looks, and missing a chunk from one of its nostrils. “A ram?”

The wagon window rolls down and Sloane pokes her head out of it. “Symbolizes power, drive, and bravery.”

“And bullying other wagons off the track?”

A cheeky grin. “That, too.”

*

(In their first  _ real  _ race, Sloane looks back when Hurley makes a strange noise. It’s bright, and deafening, and Hurley has to pause to gasp for breath before she howls another laugh so wide Sloane can see her back molars.)

*

The two of you, you win races, and you lose races, and that first night together isn’t something you forget. There is no built-up tolerance to the delicious terror of dangerous turns and an accelerator flush to the floor.

You stop clinging to edges, start sitting up straight and letting the wind slicing against your face, the lights of your competitors pulsing, and the sheer  _ push _ of it all swallow any words left clinging to the back of your throat.

*

Sloane’s eyes glitter like beetle chitin, back pressed to the tree trunk behind her. “What’s the weather like up there?”

You huff. Even straddling her lap like this, you only have an inch or so on her. You’ll take what you can get, but you don’t have to be happy about it. “Overcast with a chance of sharp knees digging into my rear end.”

“You weren’t supposed to sit  _ on _ my knees!”

With another grumble, you lean in to press your lips to hers. It’s still baby-bird new, the whole kissing part of this relationship. She draws back just a fraction, lips still barely connected to yours, and says, “It’s gonna take more than that to shut me up. You know that.”

You bite down on her lip ring with a  _ click. _ “Challenge accepted, asshole.”

*

“Y’got freckles,” Sloane mumbles against the back of your neck. Her thumb traces your shoulder blade. “I didn’t see them before.”

It’s too early for this. You turn your face further into the pillow. “It’s actually Morse code,” you mutter back. “It says; ‘if you’re close enough to read this, whoa! Back up a bit, pal.’”

You wait a moment.

“Hey. That was funny.”

“Mm. Not really.”

*

In the morning, the space behind you is empty, as usual. You roll over to catch a whiff of her Fantasy Walmart generic-brand tea tree oil shampoo. Pillow’s still warm, so she probably overslept. You grin.

Sunlight yawns through the crack of your curtain. There’s unfamiliar jewellery on the bedside table; the note next to it, in Sloane’s unnecessarily extravagant handwriting, reads,  _ something that reminded me of you on my last job, so I picked it up <3. _

It’s an ankle bracelet. You pool it in your palm and flip over the note, groaning, “I’m not wearing stolen good—”

_ Hah! Beat you to it, receipt’s in the drawer. Entirely legal purchase. Sloane: 1, Hurley: 0. _

The receipt is, in fact, in the drawer. You clip the bracelet on and shake your leg around to hear the little clinking noise.

“You won this round,” you say, shaking your fist at nothing as you jingle-jangle your way down to breakfast.

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this immediately after listening to petals to the metal for the first time, was originally gonna just leave it to rot in the elephants' graveyard that is my drafts but i've been itching to post something recently so i polished it up and ... here ya go.
> 
> tumblr: @brightwritesstuff


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